


h u n g e r

by Allegory



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Eating Disorders, Gen, Keith (Voltron)-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-10 12:30:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10437792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allegory/pseuds/Allegory
Summary: "You're such a slow eater," Lance says, slurping the insides of a purple-spotted shell."Unlike a certain somebody, I like to appreciate my food," Keith attempts to roll his eyes. He shoves another mouthful of slime in his mouth but he can see Shiro in the periphery of his vision, watching him."Appreciate?" Lance raises an eyebrow. "I don't think I've ever seen you clean off half a plate of anything."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> where are all the ED fics, seriously  
> Also I can't be the only one who's noticed how Keith has commented on Hunk's weight/gastro more than once...

Keith gazes at his dinner. It's a paltry mix of Altaen goop, some kind of crustacean (it's still moving on his plate?) and an innocuous plate of brown rice, which isn't very innocuous once Lance pokes it and the grains scatter away from his fork. Despite the oddities, Hunk had whipped this up, which means that the paladins will have no problems putting the strange creations in their mouths. Coran (ex-appointed chef) simmers as Lance digs in and praise the wonderful flavors of his cooking. Everyone else follows suit save Keith, who silently spoons the goop around, putting some down his throat once in a while.  
  
It's been fine so far. They've gotten to know each other over the last few months and no one has ever paid attention to his eating habits- though, under the pretense of food that looked and tasted sickening, he'd been able to excuse himself back then. Nowadays, because Hunk is making food work, Keith has begun to feel the anxiety surging in his blood when mealtimes are announced; it's strange for him, having to eat around people in a proper setting. He'd never really thought something as trifle as food could be so cumbersome.  
  
"You're such a slow eater," Lance says, slurping the insides of a purple-spotted shell.  
  
"Unlike a certain somebody, I like to appreciate my food," Keith attempts to roll his eyes. He shoves another mouthful of slime in his mouth but he can see Shiro in the periphery of his vision, watching him.  
  
"Appreciate?" Lance raises an eyebrow. "I don't think I've ever seen you clean off half a plate of anything."  
  
Keith realises that Pidge has stilled, fork placed thoughtfully against her bottom lip. Hunk is still gobbling but he glances sidelong at their short-lived bickering. Even Allura and Coran are listening in, though Keith is most unnerved by the fact that Shiro hasn't moved an inch since the conversation began. It's suddenly too much for him. The chair screeches as Keith gets up and, without another word, strides out of the dining hall. Hunk attempts to call out to him, but Shiro holds up a hand and no one speaks a word to the retreating figure.  
  
Keith locks himself in the rest of the night. He'd normally go for a stroll around this time of the day, an hour or so after dinner, and often times Shiro would meet him halfway, be it at a balcony or in some old storage room and they'd just spend some time talking before Shiro left for one duty or another. Tonight the only thing Keith does is sharpen his knife, the Galran one, glancing at his own reflection between flashes of blue and grey of his room. A cacophony of thoughts swirl in his mind, scenarios he attempts to calm with the rhythmic noises of his knife work.  
  
A knock at the door startles him and he almost cuts himself, missing his thumb by a few centimeters. Keith swivels around, waiting to hear who it is, but never getting a word. He stands, bringing up a hologram from the surveillance system placed atop his door. Shiro is staring right at him with the strangest expression on his face.  
  
"Can I come in?" Shiro says after a brief while "I'd like to talk for a bit."  
  
The way Shiro phrases his requests makes it practically impossible to say no to them. Keith puts his blade away and gestures for the door to slide open. Shiro enters, but doesn't take more than a few steps into the room.

“You all right?” Shiro asks.

“You know what anyone’s answer would be,” Keith answers. He also knows that Shiro asks it more to gauge the other person’s reaction, to see if it strikes a chord. That something is obviously not all right.

“We’re worried about you,” Shiro begins, and Keith supresses the urge to sigh, turning around instead. “Lance especially. He couldn’t stop apologizing about chasing you out.”

“Food must’ve done something weird to him,” Keith quips and realizes immediately that he’d brought attention back to what he’s been trying to avoid.

Shiro steps closer in, leaning with one shoulder against the wall. It seems that he can’t figure out where to put his hands. “Is this hard for you to talk about?”

“Honestly? Yeah,” Keith murmurs, sitting on the edge of his bed so that he doesn’t have to face Shiro directly. He breathes out shakily, noting that his fingers and toes had gone cold and numb; that he’s a little hungrier than he thought. He doesn’t pine for earthen food, thinking of his tablets back at home instead. “I don’t know. It’s not that I don’t eat, or that I try to avoid it. I’m just not hungry most of the time. People don’t get that.”

Keith had been a little underweight while trudging through high school—when he joined the Garrison, he got access to nutritional pills. Three multi-coloured vitamins helped him get through the day just fine, and Keith thought it was great, spending time in the gym while his classmates moaned on and on about the long queue for some grilled sandwich or roasted chicken quesadilla they were serving at the cafeteria. When the mood to eat did strike him, he’d head out to buy a loaf of white bread, tearing bits off and dipping it lukewarm water, chewing and spitting.

“Doesn’t seem to be very healthy,” Shiro prods tentatively. He moves so that he’s standing in front of Keith, so that Keith has no choice but to face him.

He runs a palm behind his neck. “It’s not,” he admits. Some days, while piloting his lion or even just walking to the bathroom, the simple act of thinking would blur, and he’d need to hold onto something so that he didn’t topple over. He’d passed out twice since coming to space, thankfully both times in the safety of the training arena. _Hypotension acting up._ They’d believed him.

“When did this start?”

Keith shrugs. “Don’t know. It’s been so long since I’ve bothered to have a proper meal…years ago. Hard to tell.”

“Anything we can do to help you get better?”

Keith doesn’t reply. He doesn’t want to lie to Shiro, and frankly, he doesn’t want to get better. He’s comfortable with the emptiness in his stomach.

Shiro lets the matter go, but Keith doesn’t sleep well that night.

 

A few days pass before the next incidence; Keith hasn’t stepped into the dining hall once since. He’s just finished training when a pang of exhaustion hits him, not the type that translates to _work harder_ but one that throws him down to one knee. He registers the others coming to his aid, Lance first, surprisingly, and before he knows it Shiro has hooked his arm under Keith’s knees and swept him into his arms. 

The worst part is that Keith remains conscious throughout the whole ordeal. He hears what everyone is whispering; their concerned voices and conversations, like he’s some alien prototype. Shiro places him onto a bed somewhere and it feels like ages when he finally returns, pressing some kind of cup against his lip.

“You need to drink this,” Shiro says, nudging the cup when he doesn’t relent. “Please, Keith. At least a few sips.”

For the sake of being left alone and being given some space, he cooperates, tasting as much of the saccharine liquid as he can take. It takes a while to reach the halfway mark of the cup, but by then he’s feeling much better. He hears Allura’s report in the background; that his pulse has stabilized and his blood glucose levels are slowly rising back to normal.

“Rest,” Shiro advises, guiding his head onto a pillow. Keith has no problems with that. Pressure lifts from his chest as Shiro helps him out of his suit as much as he can.

Keith hears Pidge murmuring in the distance. “We can’t avoid this any longer.” Sounds of assent. Keith is supposed to be the red paladin, the offensive right hand of Voltron. Right now he feels anything but.


	2. howl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm overwhelmed by the interest in this fic. Thank you for the lovely kudos and comments especially <3 I hadn't expected to churn this out so fast!

"Keith?"  
  
A few nights later Keith is in the kitchen, his head in the refrigerator, when Shiro's voice almost causes him to drop the Mason jar.  
  
Guilt flares in him. Shiro doesn't switch on the lights, thankfully, so there's that much respite to be had. Keith closes the fridge door for good measure, enveloping them in total darkness.  
  
"Can't sleep?" Keith asks.  
  
Since the training incident, Keith has noticed the acute importance placed upon his eating times. It suffocates him; people restlessly telling him to eat like a bunch of ravens cawing overhead. They still try to show some discretion but he's had to sit through the three main meals with them, sticking out like a sore thumb because he doesn't even try to make a show of it anymore. Keith's appetite has slowed to a deathly crawl and he responds by intensifying his workouts. So he wasn't really surprised when he woke up in the middle of the night with his nerves pinching and his heart twisting in his ribs, knowing he needed to put something in his body before it collapsed on him again.  
  
"Am I interrupting you?" Alarm bleeds into Shiro's voice- it's obvious when his tone softens beyond the usual. He probably thinks that Keith had intended to eat something.  
  
"Not really." Keith had thrown most of it up. The benefits of Altaen food included not smelling like garbage when it comes back up the throat; if they stayed in the dark like this, the waste bin in a compartment behind him, Shiro wouldn't find out. Bile lingered at the back of Keith's tongue.  
  
That's when more footsteps shuffle into the room and it clicks that this visit into the kitchen had been planned to some degree. Keith curses in his head, feeling a tinge of betrayal that they'd gang up against him like this. It only fuels him with the mischievous spite to throw up more, or at least contemplate doing so.  
  
The lights flicker on. Pidge is standing next to a counter. The pain in Shiro and her eyes cuts through him and he wonders when he got this close to them. Did he not put up his walls? Deny their friendship enough? Keith has failed himself most of all, for letting the dejection in their faces bother him.  
  
Shiro walks over to the counter and takes a seat opposite Pidge. They're waiting for Keith to join them. And it's not like Keith can turn that down when Shiro can and will probably grapple him if he tries to get away. Better surrender with grace.  
  
Pidge brings up the projection of a memo pad while Keith gazes at a wall, willing a window to appear, wishing he were back in the Garrison piloting an average plane on a warm summer day, whipping up sand dunes, exploring old caverns on his own.  
  
"Coran's dug up some old technology that emulates food from Earth," Pidge begins, speaking nothing of what she'd walked into. "We'll need some kind of material to get it running, though we can probably find that in our next stop. So what kind of food or drink do you think you can...handle?"  
  
The last word sounds more like a blurted statement. Keith's eyebrow twitches. "This is ridiculous."  
  
What's really ridiculous are the dizzy spells Keith's been having without his supplements. Even he understands his health has really declined over an unnervingly short period of time. "Isn't there some kind of rejuvenating space fluid I can just jab myself with?" he tries.  
  
There's no response except that Shiro's eyes widen, filling with concern that he'd spoken almost like some morphine addict. Keith says, almost immediately, "Okay. Fine. Bread, I guess? Oranges?"  
  
He adds that last part with his father in mind. They'd been two peas in a pod, the Koganes, living in the rural isolation of an abandoned farm house. Keith remembers how his dad would get up early on Sundays and return with buckwheat pancakes and literally bags of oranges, snacking on them throughout his sleepless nights. Keith has never fancied the taste of them before, but he might as well give them another shot.

The two of them continue to prompt him with various dishes. It seems to lighten the mood a little, talking about food from some distant universe. When it's over there's over six, seven options on the list, and Keith manages to slip away, though not without spotting the cam that had been set up between the ridges of a pillar. It was probably Pidge's idea. So they knew how frequently this had been happening.

Keith falls back into an uninterrupted sleep until dawn. He dreams of his father brushing his bangs back when he'd gone down with a fever, reading him stories that fashioned the strangest creatures in his mind, nine-limbed shadow monkeys, lizards with milky pearls for eyes. In the morning, Keith curls up in his bed, blinking in the memory of the dream while Lance starts up his usual ruckus outside.

It comes to Keith's attention that Shiro eyes him more often during training. Granted, Keith has never met a better leader. He holds a grudge nonetheless, despising the raw thought of needing to be coddled this way. There's such sympathy when Allura looks at him that it's like they've alienated him from the group. If only they'd do it more discreetly; Keith would be just dandy going it alone.

He shocks himself more than anyone else when his legs turn to jelly mid-swing and Shiro catches him with the net of his broad torso, holding his shoulders in such a feather-like grip that it's like he's mocking Keith, and Keith has just fucking had enough. He shoves away and yells, growling practically with all the force of his lion, "Stop treating me like I'm some kind of broken twig that you need to fix. You all need to deal with your own shit for once, and if you can’t leave me be, then I’m just going to—“

Keith almost blurts it out. Retrospectively, he wonders how he hadn’t in the heat of the moment, though he wouldn’t quit Voltron when so many lives depend on his presence. Keith storms out of the arena with a massive headache, sliding down onto the floor only when he decides he’s far enough that no one will notice.

 

Coran fixes up the new tech in the next few days. Hunk is crying tears of joy as he shouts sashimi and gado-gado and every other cuisine Keith has never heard of. Their fascination with the new tech distracts them from the reason it was conjured in the first place. Keith is perched on a window of the castle’s upper rooms, ground floor several oceans beneath his dangling feet.

“It’s dangerous over there.”

That it’s Lance who’d come up with a bag of food surprises Keith more than the fact that he’d been found. Keith watches the doorway for other people. Though Lance certainly isn’t his first choice, he’s relieved that no one else has followed. Lance pulls a citron fruit out of the bag before setting it on the floor.

“Thanks,” Keith says, though he shakes his head when Lance extends his peace offering. Keith continues to stare at the purpling horizon, mottled by bruise-grey clouds.

“You should come see that contraption sometime,” Lance says, tentatively. “Sure brings me back home.”

“I will,” Keith promises. He’s smashed Pidge’s cam, in any case.

“It’s got to be tough,” Lance says, after a moment of silence. The winds pick up and wash his words away. “But I don’t regret catching you out. We need you healthy if we’re going to save every dimension in existence.”

 _“Unfortunately so.”_ Keith hums a feeble agreement. Lance’s jaw hangs but he can’t quite pick his words. In the end he leaves Keith to his own devices, breathing in his intimacy to a spiralling death.

Shiro walks into Lance a little later. Keith has vanished by the time he makes it to the landing, leaving behind nothing but pulled curtains, the warmth of his footprints. It’s only when Shiro turns away that Keith emerges from behind a closet, the howling wind of an incoming storm trussing his hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pt. 3 maybe?? Time will tell :)))  
> I haven't got much Voltron on my Tumblr yet (I'm new to the fandom! xp) but I'd love to chat/become mutuals with any Voltron fanatics. My URL: warmwintersun :)

**Author's Note:**

> Stay tuned for pt. 2 :)


End file.
